Photo by Stuart Rosenberg

The winning Lucky Dog Gingerbread House, by Julie Busch-Johnson and Liz Sanford Westwood Country Club

Some events just make you go "Aww," or in the case of the Lucky Dog Rescue Gingerbread Doghouse Charity Competition, "P-aww." The popular fourth annual event took place this past Monday night in the Hotel Icon Lounge, drawing dog lovers and families in the spirit of giving and Christmas cheer.

"We are so fortunate to have this annual event - it is a key fundraiser for us to continue our mission and directly affects the number of dogs we're able to save from BARC," said Jodi Eisenhardt, a volunteer and spokesperson for the event. "Every single thing for this event is donated, so we're so grateful to everyone," she continued.

Donations included the gingerbread doghouses entered in the competition, light bites and drinks from the Hotel Icon's new restaurant, Line and Lariat, beer from local beermaker Karbarch brewery, cute, bone-shaped gingerbread favors created by Three Brothers Bakery, the $25 suggested door donation, and funds from the silent auction for each of the gingerbread houses on display. You could also sponsor a dog by selecting one of the puppy-faced Christmas tree ornaments hanging from the "Sponsor" Christmas tree.

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Photo by Nicholas Hall

Hubcap Grill

I'm not really sure how Hubcap Grill owner Ricky Craig will feel about his DEFCON designation. Despite my feelings on the subject, I'm fairly certain that Hubcap isn't meant to be kid friendly. Not that it's meant to be unfriendly, but something about a gravel yard filled with a ramshackle assortment of discarded lawn furniture, a menu single-mindedly focused on beef and beer, and the almost elegant austerity assembled from those components leads me to believe that my eight year old isn't exactly his target audience.

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I didn't order it, but I managed to steal a few bites.

As we mounted the steps to the restaurant, my five-year-old began to have a meltdown. This was not good. We had been anticipating DEFCON 5, and had chosen a restaurant accordingly. She had left her hair-band behind, it seemed, and she was not going to be quiet about it. Sirens blared; my hand hovered over the red button.

As the valet drove off, I tried to calm her down, beseechingly asking my wife if she might have something -- anything -- in her purse with which I could put the girl's hair up. A quick search turned up nothing, and I turned to bribes. The hostess was starting to eye us through the windows in the door, wondering if we she was going to have to deal with this rag-tag band of crying kids and harried, frantic parents. I offered my blackberry as condolence, its sole Windows 95 era brick-breaking game my last gambit in the war for a decent meal.

She took the bait, sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve, and we were in the door. The hostess seemed less than thrilled to see us, eyeing the still quietly snuffling child suspiciously. I smiled with what I hoped was a look of reassurance on my face, and half promised/half hoped: "She'll be fine now." She seemed convinced; her expression changing to one of warmth, and she showed us to our table.

We had decided semi-last minute to go to dinner for the last night of Houston Restaurant Weeks, and Feast was our destination. In a show of gratitude for the slightly ridiculous amount of work I had done in recent weeks, my boss had told me to take the family out to dinner. I figured a HRW meal was a pretty good option. I'd sent my wife a link to the HRW website, pointing out a few promising options, and she'd responded, almost immediately, "Feast."

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Pedagogical Pasta?

In the past few months, I've started to pay more attention to children's food. That is to say, food products designed for and targeted toward the younger set (and their caregivers). Maybe it's because my friends are having kids, maybe it's because I'm pushing 30, or maybe it's because I'm attracted to bright colors and simplistic slogans ("They're GRRREAT!!!").

What has really struck me during my recent strolls through the supermarket is the number of foods shaped like letters of the alphabet. Granted, SpongeBob and Woody from Toy Story are also trendy choices for formed food, but letter shapes seem to endure. My mom ate alphabet soup as a child, served it to me when I was elementary school, and I'll probably dish it out to my young'uns, should have I them.

But here's my question: What's the point?

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Kellie Karavias and two budding cooks at the Farmers Market.

Last weekend I skipped my usual Saturday stop at the Eastside Urban Harvest Farmers' Market, and instead opted to visit the Sunday Urban Harvest Farmers' Market at Highland Village (2720 Suffolk at Westheimer) so I could check out their new cooking and nutrition class for kids. "Stick a Fork in It" was created by Kellie Karavias, a certified teacher and "foodie" who is also Houston ISD's very first elementary Culinary Arts Educator. Kellie is presently heading up the Culinary Arts program at Eleanor Tinsley Elementary School.

When I first got to Kellie's table, she was chopping fresh strawberries with her son. The day's menu featured "Tickle Me Pink" pancakes for Mother's Day. Kellie told me she wants to bring an appreciation for food and cooking to a new generation, one that she's observed as less engaged in where their food comes from. She is growing a beautiful organic garden with her students at Tinsley.

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Salami Sandwich at Brown Bag Deli

I've gone on record (see the comments section on Katharine Shilcutt's recent post about dining with children) about my kids being pretty good when it comes to restaurants, both in terms of their behavior and their willingness to branch out and try what some might not consider "kid-friendly" foods. On a good day, my older daughter will eat pretty much anything you put in front of her, and will stay in her seat while doing it. On a bad day, it's about all we can do to maintain our sanity while providing our kids with something, anything, they'll actually eat. For such days, it's a good idea to have a back-pocket list of anytime restaurants.

Parents, you know what I'm talking about. Places that can be counted on to deliver food your kids won't scorn, childishly picky noses in the air. Places where slightly raised voices and seat-bouncing won't get you glared at like you farted in church. There are, of course, varying levels for such situations, DEFCON-like in their escalating threat, which necessitate different types of restaurants.

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